


The Gift That No One Wanted

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Department of Mysteries, F/M, Rough Sex, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 12:36:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16933368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Fate does not take kindly to having a nose thumbed at Them. Tom Marvolo Riddle vanished during his interview at Hogwarts and reappeared during a Department of Mysteries experiment on Soulmates. Why Hermione had to be involved, was beyond her but she was NOT happy”





	The Gift That No One Wanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Razo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razo/gifts).



Year 1953. Scotland. ‘Cannon’ AU scene.   
  
Tom Riddle idly drummed his fingers on his armrest. He detested being made to wait. He made himself take a deep breath. He was so close to his goals, he could taste it. Tom just needed to fawn a little more and play Perfect Prefect again so he could secure what he ultimately desired: teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. He was the perfect candidate. Half-Blooded, but neither pro-muggle or pro-pureblood (as if his followers could tell the difference). He grew up in an orphanage, and knew how tough life was on the streets, and how to defend himself physically-- which he noticed many wizards could not do. Tom studied furiously and prodigiously in the Dark Arts, absorbing everything there was to know at an even greater speed and joy than he had learning any other magic. Combined with his image and complete mastery of Defense, he was a shoe-in. He’d hunted down a founder’s relic and was going to present it to Armando Dippet, his former headmaster. He’d worked for Borgin & Burkes’ right out of school; he was not too proud for any work. He was independent and self-reliant. He was exceptional on all of his school work, and then even more so on his NEWTs. He had glowing references from important figures in Wizarding Society with how he’d assisted them after a purchase at Borgin & Burkes’ notoriously Dark shop that also dealt in rare books & tomes. He was fetched to Hogwarts more than once solely for business. Tom was confident, but an uncomfortable feeling was swirling in his belly. He noticed it when he woke that morning, and set it down to an ill-night’s rest the evening previous. Instead, the feeling seemed to be growing more intense. Perhaps he was nervous about the interview, though he could not fathom a single reason as to why he would any anxiety.   
  
“Ah, Tom, do come up now-- we are ready for you.” Deputy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore spoke from the mezzanine where the headmaster’s office was in the immense administration chambers. Tom ground his teeth at that incessantly grating voice that plagued him since he was 11. He hated Albus Dumbledore. And especially hated how everyone revered him even more after Dumbledore’s spectacular defeat of Grindlewald. Dumbledore had always been needlessly cruel and cold to him, even at the orphanage when he was informed his special powers meant he was a wizard at 11. Through his schooling, no matter how well Tom did, Dumbledore never praised or complimented him. He rarely even awarded points for good deeds and correct answers, even as he rubbed Tom’s nose in it through his favoritism of Gryffindor and absolutely anyone that was not Tom. Tom vowed early on he would not let it bother him, and that when he ruled the world he would execute Dumbledore first. Maybe even before he was in power, Tom smirked to himself.

 

In the ornate office, Tom settled himself in the open overstuffed wingback. Dumbledore occupied the other chair to the side of Dippet’s desk, and then the old headmaster himself behind a hulking desk that matched his portly frame.

 

“Young Master Riddle! How good it is to see you again, good chap! My, you’re growing handsomer than the devil himself, found yourself a good woman yet, Tom?” Dippet bellowed his greeting, having become hard of hearing in the last several years. Tom doubted, especially if Dumbledore was sitting in on interviews, that Armando Dippet would be headmaster much longer. A quick perusal of the surface thoughts of the old man’s mind showed many health ailments, but wanting to see him-- Tom that is-- settled and happy because the boy worked so hard and deserved it. Yes, Dippet was always very good to Tom. It may have necessitated slightly more than just  _ luck  _ for Galatea Merrythought to retire, but Tom rarely needed luck to accomplish anything. He smiled and opened his mouth before closing it uncertainly. His gut really was churning now and he felt like he was going to be sick. He was about to excuse himself for a moment, when the entire world popped out of existence.

  
  


Year 2000. Post War, EWE   
  
It was the gift that no one wanted that day-- at least neither of the recipients. The Souls & Spirits sector of the Department of Mysteries had been exploring the matter of Soulmates. Unsurprisingly, an experiment regarding Soulmates went terribly wrong. In a joke attempt to lighten up one of their supervising colleagues, one Miss Hermione Granger, a team of unspeakables accidentally brought forward a dead man from his prime, possibly rewriting history as he materialized in the Time Sector. 

 

20 yr old Under Secretary to the Head Unspeakable Hermione Granger, War Heroine and Brightest Witch of the Age, never believed in ridiculous things like soulmates. One soul that you were destined to meet out of 6 billion plus souls on Earth? Mathematically unrealistic, but that did not stop the underlings and their project. The Head of the Department, her boss, had signed off on the project before she began at the Department of Mysteries. And now they’d massively fucked up. Robes fanned out behind her in the brisk pace she set towards the Time Sector, while her riotous curls were already sparking with frustration and anger. Her soulmate! Hers! They somehow accidentally pulled from his proper time a man that was supposed to be her soulmate. Not that she’d admit it, but there was a part of her that was angry that she not only did have a soulmate, but he hadn’t even lived during the same time as her. Or, they weren’t sure as the Mistake wasn’t talking. Yet.

 

The prick, she thought bitterly, wanted to speak with a supervisor. Since the Head of the Department Mysteries was in meetings all day, she was next in line. She had an inkling of doubt that if he wouldn’t talk to the Head of Time Research that he was not going to be interested in Deputy Head of the Department of Mysteries, who also happened to be younger than the Head of Time Research by at least fifty years. Hermione was revolutionizing things in the Department of Mysteries, and was writing her memoirs at the behest of the Head of the Department as well the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione Granger had been Unmentionable #2 and kept the top three most wanted by Voldemort’s reign hidden and more than that, she had direct experience with horcruxes and the Deathly Hallows themselves. Hermione was currently on the compliance side of being requisitioned if necessary to provide the knowledge she had.

 

As Hermione neared the Time Sector, she felt unusual, as if something within her was churning and trying to get out.. She felt so strange, and maybe she had a sneeze coming on? Blinking furiously, a new yet utterly same world snapped together before her eyes, as if she had stumbled. Grumbling about not being able to sneeze and stumbling in her new heels, 19 year old Deputy Under Secretary to the Assistant Head Unspeakable Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of the Age, went on to see what the fuss was about. There’s a niggling feeling in the back of her head like Hermione forgot something incredibly important, but she was positive she didn’t leave her muggle hair straightener on. She may have broken the last one in a fit of anger when it did nothing to straighten her hair, only singed it quite badly. 

  
  


Year 1999, Story AU.

 

Learning about the experiment with the Mistake in the room was a bigger mistake. The young man was bright, uncannily so. Looked about her age. Hermione sent an underling to the archives to pull up who Tom Riddle was and the answer was that he disappeared during an interview with Hogwarts-- vanished right in front of the portraits and Headmaster Dippet, as well as Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore. All were very surprised and uncomfortable with the event, and even more so when the Unspeakables simply took lots of measurements with strange, spindly silver instruments, placing them at seemingly random yet it made for compelling office decor that Albus Dumbledore adopted. After checking the metrics, the Unspeakable in charge of the case announced it was a time anomaly and nothing could be done until the boy showed up again.   
  
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. The Mistake was lounging comfortably in a chair, dressed neatly in a double breasted charcoal grey set of robes, reminding her of a combination of traditional wizard-wear and fashionable post-WWII muggle. He was handsome, she could give him that. The reason the Mistake did not want to speak with the Head of Time Research was because she was a woman, disregarding the fact that the same woman was a junior researcher at the time of his disappearance. In fact, she was giving Hermione her full report and the follow up for the last forty-seven years. It was tedious, boring, and the biggest reason she could stand the Time Research sector. They didn’t know how to be concise. At all. Ever. Hermione took a deep breath and stayed her hand from reaching for her wand. She was oddly anxious around the Mistake and she did not like it.   
  
“Look, Mr. Riddle, Time Research follow up aside, the Souls & Spirits Sector has apologized numerous times to you already as well as your former friends, as you had no kin we to whom we could pay reparations. We will pay you additional reparations for your unintended time travel. S&S’s report is that they had an unexpected breakthrough, and they are here to speak with you on your experience.” Hermione paused, taking a deep breath.

 

She continued in a tighter voice, “I am here because I am the Deputy Under Secretary to the Assistant Head of the Department of Mysteries. I am, unfortunately, the next in line in management. The fact that I am a woman, is your own problem. I caution you to learn the current social mores of this time, Mr. Riddle. Women are to be treated as equals whether you want to believe it or not.” Hermione glared at the Mistake, who decided to act innocent and offended that she dare mention his blatant misogyny. As if she could ignore it, when after meeting her he asked in a syrupy voice to get him a cup of tea while she went to get the man in charge. She nearly decked him as hard as she did Draco Malfoy for calling her a mudblood in her 3rd year. But there was the Mistake, looking all apologetic.

 

“I’m sorry, Miss Granger. I didn’t mean to offend. I’m a little disoriented still.” He touched his hair as if absently, but Hermione knew better and glared at him. She wasn’t quite sure why she was so confident as to the duplicity of his nature, but to her it was screamingly obvious. Her coworkers in the room were falling over themselves to please him-- fetching him the tea he’d asked for, and giving him any answers he asked for ignoring secrecy requirements. He was absolutely on her nerves and she was not having it.   
  
“Right, so everyone out, except for myself, Mr. Riddle and S&S. Once Mr. Riddle is finished with his briefing, I will escort him to his a temporary residence. Magda, could you finish the paperwork for him? That way he will be all set once this last briefing is over. I’m sure he’d very much like us out of his hair.” Hermione smiled tightly, dismissing the few people who thought this was a congregation room and not a conference room. The representative from Souls and Spirits Sector, was one of Ginny’s ex-boyfriends from Hogwarts, Michael Corner. He had not grown into his looks, all the more obvious next to the dreadfully gorgeous and thoroughly irritating Mistake.   
  
“M-miss Granger, Miss. Mr. Riddle. Thank you for meeting with me. This is unfortunately not the standard time-travel that the case we initially believed. We already informed Miss Granger, as she needed to be brought to speak with you both and she is also the supervisor for S&S.” Michael sounded as uncomfortable as he looked. His palms were sweaty, his face white, and he seemed to be trembling slightly even. Hermione was growing more concerned. She hadn’t liked it when she was summoned or briefed, but she hadn’t given them any indication of anger.   
  
“Get to the point. What does she have to do with me.” Tom Riddle all but growled, showing that he did have a short temper, though Hermione suspected he was normally better restrained given his earlier performance.   
  
“You are Soulmates. Since you, ah, you hadn’t existed in our time, our measurement spell malfunctioned and accidentally brought you forward instead.” Michael Corner rushed the words, speaking as quickly as he could, watching the unmoving face of Tom Riddle across from him.   
  
“Soulmates.” Tom repeated dully, the shock giving way to numbness. Soulmates didn’t exist and hadn’t been proved; the only spells tampering around with souls are incredibly Dark. Yet, he was apparently in the year 1999 when not an hour ago he was in 1953 interviewing for the job he wanted most. Everything… everything he’d worked for and sacrificed and poured even his soul into was just gone. He would have to regain access to his Gringotts vault, which he pre-paid for 100 years after saving up his Borgin & Burkes’ paychecks for an entire year. Well worth it already, he grimaced. The idiotic boy across from him managed to lose what little color he had at Tom’s look. Good, the imbecile should be afraid. Clearly he wasn’t the brains of whatever group had made him the sacrifice to their supervisor who was also their victim, as well as their entirely innocent victim. 

 

‘Pleasant,’ Tom thought baring his teeth slightly. ‘Granger next to me seems to be… not as made of stone as I thought. She likes me less Perfect Prefect. Well I can certainly give her that.’ He thought nastily. Tom slowly drew his wand and laid it on the table within fingertip reach. The idiot was trembling more obviously now. Hermione uncrossing and re-crossing her legs did not go unnoticed. Tom cocked his head to the side and smiled serenely.

 

“So, Mr…?” Tom lead.

 

“Corner, Sir. Michael Corner.” Michael answered instantly.

 

“Mr. Corner… why exactly are you here with us? What are your fellows at the Souls & Spirits Sector hiding? To drag a wizard in his prime--” Tom paused and shot a glare at Hermione who couldn’t help an unexplained snigger drop from her lips. “To drag an experienced wizard heading into his prime, is a lot of power. How could a mere measurement spell return such a different result? Hmm? The balance of magic does not equal out. Much like muggle physics, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Your story is not plausible, Mr. Corner.” Tom sneered at the idiot, slowly realizing that his cover was blown. Miss Granger herself was looking distinctly uncomfortable having clearly, not realized that on it’s own.   
  
“He’s right.” Hermione snapped, surprising both Michael and Tom. “Magic always must balance out just like muggle physics. I’ve never met anyone else that even compares magic to muggle means.” Hermione looked at Tom, with interest veiled behind discomfort and a distinct pinch about the eyes that told Tom that Hermione did not like him at all.   
  
“I-uh, well, you see…” Michael Corner was failing utterly and quite honestly, wished he’d never been born. How do you tell two people…

 

“How do you tell two people what?” Tom asked dangerously, interrupting Michael’s spiraling, depressive thoughts. Hermione glared at Tom. How bold to risk the still illegal practice of non-consensual mind reading in front of two ministry employees, one in a management role no less? Tom merely looked at Hermione, shrugged as if to ask who would stop him and winked at her before turning back to Michael.   
  
“How do you tell two people…  _ what _ ?” Tom repeated.

 

“Ah, well, um, we had this theory that for people who didn’t have Soulmates, you see? Why some people meet theirs and others don’t? Well, we theorized that the other soulmate just was alive at a different time period. And we were doing searches for all the supervisors, for more data. And well, M-miss Granger’s soulmate, you, Sir, were very hard to find. And now half of our notes are blank and our arithmetic calculations no longer balance out. We cannot find the source of power, what happened or why. We all concluded, and we were just in a mini consult with Time Research and they were concluding that our timeline irreparably shifted. Something that has to do with you two being soulmates. We cannot explain it otherwise.” Michael Corner looked and felt, completely terrified. He slumped in his chair, completely unable to face the fierce gazes of Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger. Tom opened his mouth to sneer, and was cut off by Hermione.   
  
“This isn’t over, Corner. I want you, your team, every one that had ANY knowledge of this project requisitioned for memories pertaining to this. All notes, pictures, sketches, research material-- EVERYTHING you have in relation to this project is requisitioned to the Office of the Head of the Department of Mysteries. You will receive your memories back if and only if it is deemed vital for your safety and even then I WILL CONSIDER IT.” Hermione seethed, her curls sparking and gaining volume in her agitation. Tom admired the picture she painted. Well, if women were going to act like this and have no fear of displaying their power _ of course _ he would respect them. Her delicate features and petite stature reminded him of a shrewd bird. He debated if she’d been in Gryffindor with that fiery nature, or Ravenclaw with her intellect that at least could somewhat catch up to his.

 

“I want everything in my office 5 minutes ago. Since you’re cozying up with Time Research, I want their memories and data as well and they will assist you in placing everything warded and sealed, keyed to me, in my office as of 5 minutes ago.” Hermione paused and checked her watch.

 

“That’s 11:15 just to be clear. Now, Mr. Riddle, if you would accompany me to my office, I will see to your paperwork and accomodations. I realize it is just prior to Christmas, but Time Research indicated you didn’t celebrate. As it is, it’ll be a bloody mess outside and everywhere will be crowded. That’s no way to get you used to a 47 year jump forward in time. You are the first to make such a jump without obvious injury to your person, so I will need to bring you to St Mungo’s for a quick scan to ensure that there isn’t anything the Department missed.” Hermione turned to Tom, completely ignoring Michael to his utmost relief. Requisitioned. Better than Azkaban. Or Death.

 

“Mr. Riddle, please follow me.” Hermione gestured to the door before striding out, Tom quickly following her, amused at her idiot underling’s opinions on the many ways Hermione Granger could have killed him with magical or muggle means.

 

“Miss Granger, if you excuse me, what does this mean for us? Supposedly we aren’t even supposed to exist at the same time.” Tom caught up to her with his long legs-- her heels were lovely extensions, but still no match for a tall man.

 

“Tsch. Time is fluid” Hermione motioned around them. “I did my Arithmancy NEWT independent project on mapping time. Turns out, you can’t map it. It’s not linear. And, which I should have realized having been issued a time turner myself, that just because something happens once doesn’t mean it has to happen again for the same outcome. Prophecy and I frequently get into fights, but it comes down to time is fluid and can be rewritten. It’s happened before. And so far, no death. I, personally, count that as a win in my book.” Hermione finished with a shrug.

 

“That is significantly impressive. Were you in Slytherin, with such ambition such as to map time?” Tom asked, probing for some more personal information. He was pleased his soulmate was suitably brilliant, even if she sometimes needed a nudge to connect the dots.

 

“Uh, no. I was in Gryffindor. My housemates thought I was insane, but I couldn’t think of anything braver than determining the shape of the unknown. I was recruited to the Department as soon as my paper was turned in. I’ve been working here since I graduated.” Hermione shrugged, giving Tom a side eye. “Why, were  _ you  _ in Slytherin?”

 

“Yes, I was. I’m actually the last surviving heir to Salazar Slytherin.” Tom smirked as Hermione did stumble, and he helped her gallantly.

 

“You’re what?!” Hermione practically shouted, throwing herself away from his arms.

 

“The last surviving heir to Salazar Slytherin. If you’re concerned about blood prejudice, you should know I am a half-blood.” Tom smiled, and used his shy orphan look that never failed to melt a crow’s heart.

 

“Well, that is good now isn’t it. Anyways, let’s get you finished up here. Magda should have had her team working double time to finish all of your paperwork. That will establish you as returned, instead a Department of Mysteries missing in action, time anomaly. It will also transfer a sum of 100,000 galleons for your unintended time travel, and a further 300,000 galleons of unpaid reparations earmarked for your next of kin.” Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable again, and Tom wondered what further poison was spread about Slytherin in the 47 years he missed.

 

“Oh okay. And my belongings? And apartment? Is that all… gone now?” Tom asked pitifully, drawing on the sad orphan look from before into the full sad orphan routine.   
  
“No. The Time Sector delivered your belongings to your Gringotts vault, packed by magic and shrunk-- only screened for residual time distortion and were negative. Your vault was also converted into a legacy vault, for if you did return in the future and the original sum for the 100 year lease was returned to your savings. I made sure my accountant, looked it over. He’s a squib cousin of my friend’s, but he’s very very good with money. I think it’s hilarious he’s the first non goblin accountant to just look over wizarding finances and contracts! Just because he can’t perform magic with a wand, doesn’t mean he isn’t completely useful in the ways that wizards are not. Unless they muggleborn.” Hermione shrugged again, thinking fondly of Mrs Weasley’s cousin whom she met by accident as he was her grandmother’s accountant. 

 

Tom made a slight cough that sounded like it could be hiding a disgusted noise. Hermione looked over at him and glared again, hoping she wasn’t soulmated to an utter bigot. Figured. Just FIGURES her soulmate not only existed out of her timeline but on top of that was a blood prejudiced bigot despite being a half-blood. Nothing really made Hermione’s blood boil like the half-blood bigots. The purebloods were born to it, fed to them on their silver spoons. But a lot of the half-bloods had no logic or basis for their ideas, aside from following pureblood buddies like the stupid cronies they were. Hermione’s hair sparked dangerously with the anger she was suppressing.   
  
“Well, now.” Tom said genially, dispelling Hermione’s dark thoughts. “Isn’t this exciting. Rich, new time period, and all alone again. Thank you, for making sure I was given my due. At the orphanage-- oh you may not know. I was born you see, at an orphanage in 1926. My father never claimed me, and I was raised there by nuns who volunteered and an awful widow named Mrs Cole. They thought I had the devil in me, with these powers. The wizarding world always knew where I was though, sending someone out to inform me of Hogwarts at 11. Were you blind-sided like that too? Like we would never have noticed the things we could do, or be noticed. I was beaten a lot, you see. For having the devil’s taint. I’m quite self reliant, prefer it that way. But I do wish it wasn’t such a pain. Is it still Christmas Eve?” Tom asked. Hermione tried not to tear up as she opened her office door. Tom’s story pulled right at her heart strings, just as he’d wanted. A soulmate was good for something he supposed. He could get him set up quite cozily in this future, and dispatch his soulmate when he was secure. He had no reason to carry on with the girl, even if she was reasonably intelligent and attractive. Tom may have to reformulate his plans, but it didn’t mean that he had to include his soulmate. He clearly didn’t need one if he had to be pulled from his own timeline to meet his soulmate. No, he could dispatch her as he needed.   
  
“Yes, Mr. Riddle. It is still Christmas Eve. If you come inside, we’ll finish up any remaining paperwork and get you on your way.” Hermione sighed as they entered her office. She was vaguely surprised to see the Head of the Department as well as the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister of Magic himself. Oh bloody hell this was definitely getting worse by the minute.

 

“Sirs! Minister! I see you have made yourself welcome. I presume you are here in regards to Mr. Riddle?” Hermione tugged on Tom’s sleeve, introducing him with the other hand. He went to remove her hand in irritation when they both jumped apart as if shocked, giving accusatory glares at the other.   
  
“A stinging hex was most--”

 

“Really? You hexed--”

 

“Hermione, Mr. Riddle. Please sit down. We have much to discuss and honestly, little time to do it in. I’m supposed to be in Whitmore having a Christmas tea with my great Aunt, so let’s do get on here. Mr. Riddle, you are being put into the care of Hermione Granger until the Department of Magical Law Enforcement can evaluate you. Your paperwork is in order, and there was a lot of boxes of research delivered not 5 minutes ago. Is that in relation to the Souls & Spirits muck up here?” The Head of the Department of Mysteries, Augustus Rookwood was a curious and strange man, and prone to insulting people with no provocation.

 

“Yes, Sir. The research is everything to do with the experiment that changed our timeline by bringing forward Mr. Riddle. I will be examining them… I guess while I am babysitting Mr. Riddle.” Hermione smiled tightly, displeased with her new Christmas plans. So much for curling up with Crookshanks. Her hand was still tingling from where Tom had touched her, she thought with annoyance.

 

“As the muck up in question, I rather resent the title. I am Thomas Marvolo Riddle Jr, the last heir to Salazar Slytherin. If you please, I would much rather be on my own and possibly reviewing this mess they call research to see where your Unspeakables failed.” Tom sat up straight and sneered at Rookwood, looking down at the older, grizzled man with disdain.

 

“A good pedigree that. Well then, everything’s in order. Granger, make sure he turns up at his DMLE appointment. They’ll owl you the summons. Until then, have fun with your new personal projects and Mr. Riddle. Soulmate, eh? Never really believed in that. S&S better give a solid report at the end of this.” Rookwood and the other two important men got up and filed out of the office as if talking to the pair of them had been a line entry on their itinerary for the day.

 

Hermione flopped in her recently vacated desk chair. It was going to be a long rest of the day.   
  
  
  
It was perhaps three hours later that Hermione was able to finally vacate the Ministry of Magic for the holiday, with Tom Riddle in tow. Babysitting! She was on babysitting duty! Hermione couldn’t believe it and was bloody pissed off. Brightest Witch of the Age and she was a glorified babysitter for the holiday. Hermione tried not to let her anger and frustration show on her face, and instead took him to Diagon Alley so that he might visit his vault and purchase some new clothes. While he was busy elsewhere in the bookstore Flourish & Blotts, she secretly purchased him a book impulsively on Soul Magic that seemed to jump out at her from being misplaced in the Arthimancy section. Tom later left with a few books on the innovations in various magical branches as well as a modern history text. After errands finished, Hermione took him side-along apparition to her parent’s backyard. She was saving money after Hogwarts. Many of her colleagues her age lived with their parents, but it was rather awkward to be bringing home her soulmate out of the blue. At least, thank heaven, her parents had decided to go to Australia for a second honeymoon. Hermione had be over the moon, and was excited to have the house to herself for two weeks. Now, she had an unknown cohabitant for an unknown amount of time-- oh goodness, what was she going to tell her parents?   
  
“Where are we?” Tom’s velvety voice asked her, jarring Hermione out of her thoughts.   
  
“My home. I still live with my parents, but they’re out of town for the next few weeks. We are in muggle Islington, London. Is that going to be a problem?” Hermione asked, her frustration at the day and her ridiculous assignment of watching after a grown man evident in her voice.

 

“Not at all, Miss Granger.” Tom smiled gently, continuing the sad orphan ploy that had her going earlier.

 

“Please, again just call me Hermione. If you don’t want me to call you Tom, I’ll just call you Riddle.” Hermione said grumpily, turning the key in the lock.

 

“Riddle will be fine then. Perhaps when you’re willing to be less of a crow, I’ll be willing to hear my name from your lips.” Tom sneered and pushed passed her into the house. He was pleased to note she came from excellent muggle stock-- good breeding, tidiness, and manners ruled this upper middle class home. He could practically smell it in the pine scented air, from the yule tree Hermione had in her parlor. Quite nice.   
  
“You may be my soulmate or something, but I’m not someone you can push around because you feel like it. This is _ my home and you were not invited in _ .” Hermione’s last words took on a different tone as latent hearth warding came to life, imprisoning Tom where he stood, crushing him slowly.   
  
“I-I ap-pologize. Your warding is quite impressive. I give my oath of fealty for the duration of my stay under this roof.” Tom babbled something he remembered reading about in a random book on obscure and outdated warding during his Hogwarts days. The ward instantly released.   
  
“Mind your manners. You will be given the guest room. Follow me.” Hermione showed Tom the guest room and where the bathroom was located, and a spare toothbrush. She left Tom to his own devices upstairs and went back downstairs to mix herself a drink. What the hell, it was well after sundown on Christmas Eve, her soulmate was just thrust into her life, and he was a bigoted arsehole. Just her luck. Hermione rubbed her hand where Tom had touched it earlier. The tingling had turned more painful, like pins and needles. She could also feel a massive headache coming on, which simply was not fair. Hermione sighed and swirled the contents of her glass around. Firewhiskey on the rocks. After a few fortifying sips, Hermione went upstairs to grab some paracetamol from the bathroom cupboard. And who else but Tom Riddle was rooting around in her bathroom cupboard.   
  
“Are you kidding me? Don’t you have any headache powder or potion or something woman?” Tom looked at her wildly, a clear flash of pain in his eyes. Hermione darted past him and grabbed the headache potion she kept for migraines behind her hair salve. She bumped into him as she turned around, effectively pinned between the sink and him. Hermione gulped and set her firewhiskey down.

 

“That feels better actually. I wonder if this is some soulmate thing.” Tom looked at Hermione expectantly, rubbing circles on her back with his thumb. Hermione trembled slightly; her head was feeling like she’d taken the potion that was still in her hand.   
  
“Well it’s not something I want to subject myself to, thank you. Here’s a headache potion.” Hermione gave Tom a firm shove on the chest, before slapping the bottle into his hand and grabbing the muggle paracetamol with the other.   
  
“Wait, Hermione!” Tom growled at her, attempting not to drop the glass potion vial (not that he’d known she’d spelled it unbreakable). He caught her wrist as she exited, depositing the vial safely in the sink.   
  
“What? I don’t like you. You’ve made it clear you don’t like my blood type. That’s kind of who I am, behind it all. I can’t ever change that. So let me go and leave me alone. I didn’t need you in my previous life and I’m not going to need you now!” Hermione cried angrily at him, her voice becoming shrill in frustration. Tom grimaced. He was not used to women who disagreed with him, much less had the gall to yell at him.   
  
“Fine, little girl. Be that way. Have a nice Christmas Eve alone with your drink, crow.” Tom said nastily, pushing her firewhiskey glass back into her hand, leaving Hermione shamefaced in the hallway as he wandered into the guest room. Hermione shook her head, trying to clear his ugly words from her head. She was nerdy and bookish, but that did not mean that she looked or acted like an ugly old crone. Her shame quickly turned to anger as she took her drink and paracetamol back downstairs. She threw on “It’s a Wonderful Life” and pondered about soulmates while drinking, popping an occasional paracetamol when her head gave an painful twinge that were becoming almost unbearable.

 

“I’m sorry I called you a crow. Will you please let me sit next to you so that I can not be in pain?” Tom’s voice was strained, calling from behind the couch at the stairs. Hermione turned, and saw him in emerald green silk pajamas. Well then, the man did well for himself.   
  
“Fine, yes. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have insulted you. You have no one here but me and here I am telling you to lay off. I have no designs on you. I just want my life back. I feel like I’ve forgotten something that should have never been forgotten, don’t you feel?” Hermione looked up at him as he quickly made his way to sit as close as he could to her on the couch, sitting stiffly and uncomfortably close. He was radiating heat in his thin pajamas, and Hermione was boggled because she was constantly freezing. “Ice Princess” was a nickname sneered at her that had additional applications.

 

“Sometimes, I feel like there were things I should be accomplishing but now everything seems rather hopeless. I guess I do understand your feeling that.” Tom nodded as Hermione conjured a drink from the bar for him.   
  
So how old are you?” Tom asked, looking at Hermione. He could count the freckles on her nose. He was undecided if he liked them or not.

 

“By Society Linear time I’m 19. Though I could be 22, depending on which view of linear time you take, if at all. I used a time turner my third year at Hogwarts to take all the extra classes, and maybe a few too many extracurricular activities.” Hermione blushed and Tom decided then he did like her freckles, and how they darkened with her blushes.   
  
“You took all the classes? Even Muggle Studies? But you’re--” Tom trailed off trying to keep the temporary peace.   
  
“Yeah, I know. Ridiculous. I knew it as soon as I started the class but by then I was committed and having the time turner was a huge honor and responsibility.” Hermione grinned, easing Tom’s tension.   
  
“It sounds rather fun. I’m 27 actually. I was interviewing at Hogwarts when I disappeared this morning.” Tom volunteered, snaking an arm around her shoulder.   
  
“You wanted to teach?” Hermione asked, surprised for some reason that didn’t make sense.   
  
“Oh yes. More than anything” Tom said, rubbing circles on her shoulder.   
  
“That’s fascinating. I’m doing exactly what I wanted. You know all about my job. Though I feel like in another life I would have liked to be a lawyer.” Hermione said dreamily, watching the movie without becoming invested in the story. Her head lazed on Tom’s shoulder. She was so comfortable and she only wanted to sleep for just a moment--

 

She woke with a start two hours later in her bed, with someone next to her. Just before she started screaming, she remembered Riddle and figured he must have taken her falling asleep on him as an invitation into her bed. Oh was he going to enjoy learning how to be a feminist and respect women’s autonomy.   
  
“I respect your bloody autonomy woman, stop thinking so loudly and lay back down. My head is already starting to hurt. I moved us here because it was infinitely more comfortable than the couch. My assigned bed is a twin so I took the liberty of using the bed that wasn’t your parents’ for us to lay down on while you slept.” Tom grumbled, his bare chest visible as the sheet fell to his waist when he sat up. Hermione’s breath caught slightly.   
  
“Oh. I see. Um, Well, first, you need to stop reading minds. It’s illegal as well as impolite. Second, I see your point. It was still very disorienting to wake up to.” Hermione said, relaxing away from the edge of the bed.   
  
“Imagine waking up 47 years in the future.” Tom sneered with no venom.

 

“I see your point.” Hermione, laughed weakly before it died in her throat as she noticed she was now in a very naughty negligee. She’d never worn the thing, bright scarlet and trimmed in gold gag gift from her best friend Ginny Weasley.   
  
“What. Is. This.” Hermione asked, gritting her teeth.   
  
“Oh? I couldn’t find any nightgowns, and this seemed like the closest thing.” Tom grinned slyly.

 

“Closest--Argh! You are going to drive me up the wall, Thomas Marvolo Riddle Jr!” Hermione huffed and crossed her arms. “You had absolutely no right to undress me--”   
  
“I didn’t. I simply swapped your outfit for that one. Switching spells have interesting nursing applications.” Tom grinned helpfully.

 

“You mean? Urgh. You are still driving me insane. Why this?” Hermione grumbled, refusing to be placated.

 

“Because it’s skin to skin contact that helps the most. And I’ve already had an hour to accept the inevitable.” Tom smirked at her.

 

“What?” Hermione asked, confused.

 

“This, Princess.” And Tom kissed her, hard. Their lips and tongues and teeth fought for dominance which Tom quickly won. They broke apart, both breathing heavily. She felt fucking amazing! She didn’t think she’d ever felt anything so good ever. She suddenly understood how some women could get addicted to the wrong sort of man.   
  
“What, kissing?” Hermione breathed over Tom’s muffled chuckling.   
  
“No Princess. I’m going to fuck your brains out so that hopefully this soulmate curse will let me me go ten feet to take a piss.” Tom said, nuzzling her throat.   
  
“That’s sexy.” Hermione grumbled and moved to push him away, but Tom merely pulled her under him on the bed.   
  
“This is how it’s going to be. I’m going to fuck you every way I want to and desire. You will accept it all with smile on your beautiful face, you got that Princess?” And then we’ll see if we’re able to separate but constant skin to skin contact is only okay while we’re fucking, got it?” Tom drove his pelvis into her hip and Hermione seethed with rage, seeing no way out of the predicament. He was right. They couldn’t keep up constant skin to skin contact. They had to find a way to break it but damn it this man was so infuriating!

 

“Fine.” Hermione growled, kissing Tom ferociously. They tangled on the bed, Hermione struggling for any small bit of dominance and Tom’s need to utterly control all of her. He discovered exactly how to do this, after his fingers, that had massaged her breasts thoroughly, went exploring south. Under her wet satin panties her sensitive nub was ripe for tapping and rubbing and flicking. Oh he had her under his complete control as he brought her to orgasm from fingering her. After she came down, he leaned back, licking his fingers clean.

 

“What do you say? Shall we test if that was enough for us to end constant skin to skin contact?” Tom asked politely, as if asking about the weather, inciting a jealous rage in her.   
  
“No, No you don’t. You do not get to be intimate and then pretend you weren’t enjoying it. You’re going to stay here and fuck me until I say so!” Hermione tried moving away, Tom grabbed her and climbed over her, so she settled for glaring up at Tom, who smirked lazily at her.   
  
“Well thank you for the invitation, Princess. Glad to know it’s there.” Tom bit her neck hard as he continued on caressing her. His soft strokes coupled with sharp pinches or tweaks were at first so irritating but she was actually rather enjoying the rhythmic pain he was conducting on her body. His song of pain was played gently over her body, his fingers tangled in her hair, on her breast, thrusting into her cunt. Hermione cried out, as he continued his assault on her, satisfying her in the way only he-- who happened to be her soulmate-- knew how. Before long his silk pants were tossed on the floor along with her satin underwear, leaving the soft, sheer negligee between them, creating a treasure trove of sensations from their friction as he rubbed his cock through her folds.   
  
“Mmm, Princess, Soulmates can’t be so bad if I can have you.” His voice rumbled against her throat, his breath tickling her sensitive skin.    
  
“Why are you calling me Princess?” Hermione asked lazily, moving along to his languid pace.

 

“Helen of Troy’s daughter was Princess Hermione.” Tom replied nipping at her ear, causing her to turn her head and giggle.   
  
“I am impressed. Most know Hermione from Shakespeare.” Hermione swooned slightly, glad to know that his nickname was at least well thought out, if generic.

 

“Well, Princess, I’m not most people. You’ll soon realize that.” Tom nipped her neck hard again, before positioning himself at her entrance and ramming himself home hard. They both exhaled at once, a giant coalescing of magic around them that energized as they fucked. So focused on the euphoric feeling that came from fucking your soulmate for the first time, they were entirely obvious to the soul bond forming and solidifying around them. Hermione scratched at his back as she arched her own, as his dick bottomed out in her again and again, hitting her cervix hard. A wild ride she was desperately holding on to and throwing in her own tricks. She’d be walking sideways tomorrow and she didn’t care who know. As long as he kept fucking her long and deep and hard.    
  
The feeling she loved started in her toes and crept up her body. The heat of her first internal orgasam of the evening. There was nothing like getting off inside and out, or the best when both clit and g-spot are stimulated at once. With a strength she didn’t know she had she flipped the two of them and rode him as hard as she could, his eyes flashing with astonishment and amusement before becoming overcome with lust. Keeping on hand on his chest, Hermione leaned back on his cock, fucking herself deep and hard and right up against her g-spot. Her moans intensified and she rubbed her breast with her free hand, now tweaking the nipple like Tom had. He grinned and reached up, tweaking the other nipple for her, surging up into her cunt and fucking her impossibly harder as he held her in place for his cock. Her pussy was crying out now, both inside and outside overstimulated and kept just out of reach of orgasm.

 

“Please-- I need-- please!” Hermione cried, a few tears leaking out as her cunt continued to take her soulmate’s intense pounding.

 

“What do you need, Princess? Tell me.” Tom smirked as best he could through his heavy breathing, sinking all his energy into dicking down his pretty soulmate. Perhaps having a soulmate wouldn’t be so bad.

 

“To cum! Oh please I just need to cum. Please let me cum.” Hermione cried, shaking with effort as her body was overwhelmed with sensation.   
  
“Yes, Princess. You may cum. Only if you cum for me.” Tom panted, surging into her and at the first of her tight cunt’s rhythmic sqeezing, he felt his own balls contract. And he was coming too. Soulmates really were good for something, he decided. Tom had had sex with his fair share of women in the 1940s, and had found that he rarely was turned on enough to come, and would have to fake it for his partner. Eventually by ‘49 he forswore sex all together. But sex before was like nothing compared to sex with his soulmate. She was dangerous.   
  
Hermione was nothing short of gorgeous when she came. It exploded out of her, energy that joined the gathering soul bond, and was matched at Tom fell over the edge with her. Hermione’s mouth was agape, in the euphoria of her orgasm, but also at the magic that was gathering around them. She closed her eyes as she gasped for breath, and nothing was visible when she opened her eyes. She wondered for a moment if she imagined it. Tom was utterly spent and relaxed under her, despite his strong hands holding her in place.   
  
“Now that, Princess, was fantastic.” Tom smiled at her, setting her next to him as he rolled over to ‘his’ side of the bed.

 

“It was something all right.” Hermione hmmed, stretching like a cat.

 

“Avada Kedavra.” No green light came. Hermione turned around shocked and angered at Tom.   
  
“What. The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. You. We just had sex-- fantastic sex according to you-- and you cast an unforgivable to kill me? FUCK YOU! What kind of test is that?” Hermione screeched at Tom, punching and hitting and pinching him at every available surface.   
  
“To check for a soul bond. I saw it--”

 

“When we came. There are other ways to confirm it, like I don’t know, ASKING ME!” Hermione returned to yelling.   
  
No, it really could be that bad for Thomas Marvolo Riddle Jr. Soulmates were really that bad. It was the gift that no one wanted that day.


End file.
